


On Twisting the Knife

by whenthetimescomes



Category: Campaign (Podcast)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Other, Tender Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:08:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28297278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whenthetimescomes/pseuds/whenthetimescomes
Summary: They are complicated creatures, but this? This is simple.
Relationships: Gable/Travis Matagot
Comments: 3
Kudos: 16





	On Twisting the Knife

**Author's Note:**

> Happy holidays!

They need to talk about this, Travis knows. 

They need to talk about the way the Church had managed to abduct him, they need to talk about the fact it had taken the Uhuru crew seven days to rescue him, and most of all, they need to talk about the way Gable has him pinned to the couch in his tavern room and is kissing him like they're both dying and this is the only chance they'll ever get. 

It's good. He’s not complaining. They're warm, and familiar, and Travis loves them- fuck, but he loves them. It's so good, after the cruel stone and rusted metal of the Church prison, that he could cry with it. Instead, he has one arm flung around their shoulders and the other on the back of their neck, and he's doing his best to make sure they don't consider stopping, even for an instant. No time for words. No time for _thoughts._

He bites at their lip, and they grip his shoulders so tightly that he can feel their nails digging into his skin, even through his shirt. Neither of them had bothered to get undressed, beyond Gable tugging Travis' coat off and kicking off their own boots. Gable holds him like they're terrified he's going to disappear, and they need to talk about this but gods it's so easy to just be distracted by their warmth, the way it feels like there's fire living just underneath their skin. 

"Gable, Gable," he says, trying to sound light, smoothing a hand down their shoulder. They stop kissing him and pull back to look at him. Their eyes are wide, and they look almost afraid, like they’ve been caught doing something they shouldn’t have. Suddenly he feels helpless to fix this. "I’m ok. You don’t need to—"

"I thought-" they murmur, and Travis can feel the vibration of their voice in their chest, they're so close together. This counts as talking, right? This is as close as they ever get. "I thought you were-" 

They can't say the word. Instead, they reach a hand up to his shirt collar and softly pull it aside. He can feel them looking at the awful red mark that runs around his neck, matching the ones around his wrists. The Church of the Slain God is not kind, but the marks will be gone by nightfall. 

"I’m here," he says quietly. "And I don’t want to think about… all that." He brings his hand up to rest on top of Gable’s at his throat. "Distract me."

"I-" Gable’s breath catches. "I don’t want to hurt you. Not after what they did." 

"You couldn’t hurt me," Travis says, a little scorn in his voice. "Trust me, I know what pain is. This isn’t it." 

Despite the way they’re following his own instruction, Travis is almost taken by surprise when Gable kisses his throat instead of replying. He exhales sharply, arm tightening across their shoulders. He knows they can feel the way his breathing goes unsteady, and any other day he'd be trying to hide this honest vulnerability from them. But after so long in the Church's grip, falling apart in the arms of an angel feels fitting. And better still is taking apart an angel in turn, watching the way they shiver with pleasure as he puts his hands in their hair. He twists his grip and pulls, and smiles smugly as they groan low in their throat. 

He did that to them. He made their eyes flutter shut and their breathing stutter against his neck. There's such a power in that. They pull back to kiss him, and Travis pulls their hair again. Their groan is louder this time, and they tilt their head back into his grip. 

"Quiet," he says, bringing his hand back to rest on their cheek, making innocent eye contact. "There are people next door." 

"I don't _care,"_ Gable says, almost a growl, and Travis kisses them again. There’s something that makes his stomach twist at the thought that Gable doesn’t care who knows that the moment they rescued him, they let him touch them like they don’t let anyone else. No one else gets to see Gable like this, he knows that. There's no one else they trust like they trust him. They'd let him do anything to them. 

Luminaries, he’s fucked. They’re both fucked, fucked up, and in each other’s arms again. They always fall back to this, this secret release, this push and pull. It isn’t going to end well, one day, but goddamn if Travis can’t help himself. 

(The Church had clearly realized something was wrong with him. They’d collared and cuffed him to stop him escaping, and the metal was so cold it tore at his skin. Seven days, seven nights. He’s lived through worse.)

He pushes Gable’s shoulder. "Let me up," he says, and clambers on top of them, so he’s astride their hips. They look up at him, flushed pink, their hair loose on the arm of the couch underneath. They hadn’t made it to the bed in this tavern room. Travis had been reaching up to kiss them before they’d even locked the door. It’s better this way. Keeps Travis in his head. 

(Gable had been shaking with anger when they’d found him. He’d been curled up in the corner, and he’d flinched away when they’d opened the door, until he’d realized who they were. Then he’d said "You took your time," with so much genuine relief that even Gable could hear it.)

He starts trying to take his shirt off, but he finds his hands are shaky. Gable holds eye contact as they catch his hands lightly, and start undoing his buttons for him. Their eyes are gray. He can’t help blushing, high on his cheeks.

"Let me make you feel good," Gable says. "Whatever you want. I don’t- I just-" 

They’ve done this before, but it’s different this time. Normally, this is hot and fast and rough, all curses and bites and scratches they both struggle to cover up the next morning. This is so intimate that it almost hurts. 

(Travis had handcuffed Gable, one time, tied them to the bedpost and listened to the way they stumbled through every word they tried to speak, so distracted by being restrained as he touched them. They'd hardly been able to look him in the eye the next day, until they'd tugged him into an empty room and pulled him into their lap and kissed him until he was panting with it. _I love you, I love you, I love you_ had been said back and forth in every kiss.)

"Just, just touch me," Travis says, pulling his own shirt off and leaning down to tug at Gable's breathlessly. 

"Yeah," Gable asks, pulling their shirt off over their head clumsily. "I can do that." 

They need to talk about this. But then Gable slips their hand under his waistband and he closes his eyes and tips his head back, gasping involuntarily at the sensation of their warm hands and soft kisses they leave on his neck, he knows that they won’t. They won’t. Then one day, it'll be too late. As Gable traces a hand down his chest, he finds it hard to care.


End file.
